


the bug shirt

by OverOnTheBench



Category: Barry (TV 2018)
Genre: Gay Panic, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, S1E4, mentions of barry/sally, style!!!!!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 19:40:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18611179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverOnTheBench/pseuds/OverOnTheBench
Summary: This is the story of exactly how Barry picked *that* outfit. You know the one. Or rather, the story of the outfit someone else picked for him.





	the bug shirt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [milodean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/milodean/gifts).



> hi. the tags explain most of what's happening. it's hard to write these two sometimes because they're just walking disasters, so i hope that this is as effective and ridiculous as i was hoping for.
> 
> hang in there, baby!

“Hank, what the fuck are you doing here?”

 

Barry tried to back up and close the motel room door. Unfortunately, his uninvited guest didn’t take the hint.

 

“Oh, I was in the neighborhood,” Hank said with a little shrug. He slipped into the room through the increasingly narrow opening Barry was leaving for him, and locked the door. Barry stepped back and crossed his arms, watching with a twinge of shame as Hank surveyed the dilapidated room. “Jeez Louise, man. With all the money we’re giving you, you didn’t want to stay somewhere nicer?”

 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Barry said. This guy couldn’t take a fucking hint. What kind of mobster wanted to socialize with a contract killer? Either he was really fucking dumb, or insane. In this line of work there wasn’t room for other explanations. He dropped the script he’d been holding on the table behind him and started brainstorming ways to get Hank out of his hair.

 

“Just wanted to see where you’re at with stash house plan. I was gonna say earlier, if you need men, maybe I can convince Goran to have a few of our guys come with you. Or I can come-”

 

“No. I told Fuches I’m not doing it.” Barry realized he was almost yelling, and as Hank raised a non-existent eyebrow at him he tacked on a quick “sorry”. What was he saying sorry for? He had no clue. As fucked-up as this guy was, he felt a little bad for being an asshole to him - but that was probably  _ why  _ he acted so nice in the first place. There was no other reason. It was obvious- this act was a subtle tactic to make people do what he wanted, or something like that. If that was the case, maybe this guy was smarter than Barry had initially thought.

 

“I mean, you kinda have to,” Hank said, nonchalant as ever. He picked an In-n-Out wrapper off the nightstand and tossed it in the trash. “Like, don’t get me wrong. I’m sure you can do it all by yourself. You’re like Rambo out there. Crazy stuff. Hey, maybe you can wear body camera, get seriously good action shots.”

 

“...Why the fuck would I record myself doing something illegal?” Barry pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ve already been through this.”

 

“Hm. Fair point, Barry.”

 

Barry walked back over to the door and looked at Hank pointedly. “It’ll get done, Hank. C’mon. I’ve got other things going on. Give me a break-”

 

“Wait.” Hank squinted. “Other things going on? Like what?”

 

“...Nothing.”

 

“You’ve gotten yourself established here pretty quick, huh?”

 

“None of your business.”

 

Hank suddenly grinned. “I knew there was something different about you. You seeing someone?”

 

“...Jesus Christ, Hank.” 

 

“Ohmygoshyou _ aaaaaare _ -”

 

Barry gave up. He went to sit on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped. It was stupid of him to think he could just have one good thing to himself. The events of last night and that morning still had him dizzy and distracted. He didn’t have the mental energy to fight off Hank’s unrelenting cheerfulness. He heard a rustling noise and looked up - Hank was taking off his leather jacket, and he laid it on the bed before sitting next to him. 

 

“Don’t want bedbugs,’ he explained nonchalantly. “What’s wrong? Why you’re not more excited?”

 

“I am,” Barry blurted out, then sighed. “I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

 

“Hmm. Well, you know they say confidence is sexy. What’s this person’s name?”

 

Barry hesitated, but he figured he had no privacy anymore anyhow. “Her name’s Sally.”

 

“Sally,” Hank repeated, and Barry thought he saw something change in his expression. It was hard to tell. “Alright, well...things are good with her?”

 

“I don’t know. I think so. But maybe not. Like, last night was great, and then when I left this morning things felt...kinda weird. I’m seeing her at our friend’s party tonight, though.”

 

Hank was silent for a moment. Barry hadn’t thought he was capable of that.

 

“First of all,” he said after a beat or two, “ you can’t be confident living in this...garbage hell pit. Find somewhere nice to stay with working shower. Your environment is a reflection of your inner turmoil. You know that, right?”

 

“Uh, sure.” He didn't know that. But it made sense.

 

“Good.” Hank’s eyes were bright with ideas, and it made Barry a little nervous. “Also, you need something nice to wear, which - and don’t take this the wrong way - you don’t have, I'm guessing.”

 

Barry was affronted, even though it was true without a doubt. He never gave any thought to what he wore, really. Clothes, like everything else, were functional. There was no need for them to look nice. Until now. Hank always looked...nice. He was put-together, with his form-fitting polos and colorful button-downs. It was weird how he seemed comfortable and light despite his pants being ridiculously tight. Hank was fucking strange, but maybe he was onto something.

 

“If you make an effort with yourself, Sally will want to make an effort with you,” Hank continued as he stood and brushed off his jacket. “Come on, get your things.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re checking out of here and we’re going shopping. Have you been listening to me at all?  _ Honestly _ , Barry...”

  
  
  
  


***

 

 

“Why are we doing this?” Barry asked as he trailed behind Hank, who was intently scanning the storefronts of the outdoor mall. A gentle breeze teased but provided no true relief from the dry California heat, and he regretted wearing a sweater. It was mid-April - Cleveland was probably still covered in snow. As much as the heat bothered him, going back to the dark and cold was unthinkable now. 

 

“I told you, you’re going to pick out a nice outfit for party,” Hank said. He stopped in front of a Calvin Klein for a second, then shook his head and moved on. “Too beachy. Not a Barry vibe...”

 

“No, I know, but why are we doing it? Together?”

 

Hank turned to him and grinned. “That’s what friends are for, man! Like, you do things for me - like get stash house for Goran - and I do things for you. Even Stevens.”

 

“I just...I don’t know. Why do you care?”

 

Confusion overtook Hank’s smile. Barry didn’t like seeing it fade away - it inspired weird pangs of guilt that were hard to banish. “Why wouldn’t I?”

 

Barry shrugged, stopping under a huge palm tree as he thought of how to phrase it in a way that sounded less dickish. “I dunno, I’m just a guy your boss hired. And this doesn’t have anything to do with the job.”

 

Hank looked away for a moment. The sun was getting lower, and at the right angle it almost looked like a flush was spreading over his face. “Just trying to be helpful, I guess. Your well-being matters if you’re gonna do the job well, y’know? You have a lot to be confident about, Barry, but you keep your head down all the time. I’ve never seen you smile. It’s...um, it’s not good for morale.”

 

“Morale-?”

 

“Come on. I promise I won’t put you in anything hot pink, unless you want that. Just trust me for a little bit, alright?”

 

Going against every cell in his body, every voice in his brain, Barry said “okay.”

 

They kept wandering around, only talking when Barry pointed out a store. Hank rejected each one with slight disdain evident in his tone, pulling Barry on an invisible string to the next option. Barry quickly figured out that Hank had a strong vision of what he’d make him wear, and though it was difficult to trust that, it was oddly freeing, too. He didn’t quite know why. As they passed J. Crew, something in the window caught his eye, and he stopped to get a closer look. Hank halted too, turning to look behind and follow Barry’s line of sight.

 

“ _ Heyyyy, _ ” he mused, walking over to examine the outfit on the mannequin. “This is a good start. The shirt’s fun, let’s see if they have it in your size.’

 

“I think the pattern is insects or something,” Barry said as Hank took him by the arm and guided him inside.

 

“Yeah, that’s what’s so fun.”

 

The bass line from some cookie-cutter techno song thrummed in the floorboards. A wave of cologne wafted over Barry and his eyes watered. He’d never set foot in a place like this by himself unless he was under duress - which, in a sense, he was, but he didn’t care. Hank made a beeline for the rack holding the alluring bug-patterned shirt, breezing past a salesperson. Barry saw the the guy give Hank a once-over and roll his eyes. Barry rolled his eyes at Hank about 45 times a day now, but upon seeing someone else do it, he had to suppress an overwhelming urge to punch something. Preferably the guy’s face.

 

“Anything I can help you find?” asked the very punchable clean-cut man as he turned his attention to Barry. “Right now we have 30 percent off on all sh-”

 

“He’s fine.” Hank returned to Barry’s side with an armful of clothes. “He’s being helped. We’re using your dressing room now.” He stalked away from the startled man with Barry hot on his heels. 

 

“Thanks,” he muttered to Hank as he was led into a dressing room. “I never know how to get away from those guys-wait. Why are you in here?”

 

Hank pressed the clothes into Barry’s grip. “You need to try things on before you buy them.”

 

“I know, b-”

 

“You cannot just walk in and buy whatever looks like it might fit.”

 

“Yeah, Hank, I get that-”

 

“No more of this buying eight t-shirts for ten dollars. Unless it’s for pajamas. This is not the Wal-Mart-”

 

“Why are you in here with me?” Barry finally managed, and Hank stopped mid-word. In the sudden quiet, their close proximity to each other was the only thing Barry could focus on. Even for a dressing room, the space was narrow, and Hank couldn’t really put his arms down so his hands rested on Barry’s arms. Warmth rose on Barry’s face, and after a brief moment of wondering what to do he shuffled closer to the mirror in the corner, opening a small gap between them.

 

“I was going to see how well things fit,” Hank replied. Mere seconds had passed, but it felt to Barry like they’d been in the space for ten minutes already. “But I’ll just wait outside to make adjustments. This dressing room was made for oompa-loompas or something…”

 

Barry was surprised by Hank’s throwaway comment, and a short laugh escaped him. Hank, who was fighting his way out the door, turned back, his face lighting up at the sound. Barry couldn’t help but smile back.

 

“See?” Hank cajoled him as he closed the door, his voice floating over the top. “Told you it wouldn’t be so bad.”

 

As Barry figured out which items to put on, he was put off by the bright lights surrounding the mirror, so he turned away from it. Hank had given him two different sizes of the shirt that had caught their attention. The first size felt a little too snug, he thought, mostly in the arms, so he went up a size. He wasn’t sure how to deal with the sleeves or anything to do with the pants, so he just walked out and faced Hank’s more discerning eye.

 

“Your buttons are wrong,” Hank pointed out. “Here…”

 

He stepped back into Barry’s personal bubble with no hesitation, and Barry willed himself not to back up. Hank was only trying to help, he knew that. Without him, he would have showed up to Natalie’s party in his typical wrinkled clothes, and Sally would...Sally. That’s who this was all about. Last night seemed far away. Hank unbuttoned the shirt, quick and efficient. His fingers skimmed Barry’s bare chest as he redid them properly, working his way up, and Barry fought off a shiver at his touch. It wasn’t like he was adverse to touch, necessarily - last night proved that. He just wasn’t used to being touched with any sort of care or gentleness. Hank deliberated over closing the top button before deciding to leave it open. He smoothed the wrinkles out and fixed Barry’s sleeves, all without saying anything. Finally he stepped into the dressing room and took a jacket off its hanger.

 

“Turn,” he instructed, guiding Barry to face a nearby mirror, and helped him into the jacket. He stepped back to admire his work. The exposure, coupled with being forced to see his reflection, was jarring for Barry, but...he didn’t really hate it. He thought he might look nice, even.

 

“The pants don't match,” Hank remarked, “I can go find another color, and some better shoes-”

“How do I look?” Barry turned to survey his face. Hank’s gaze wandered all over him, and he could feel it - an unfamiliar sensation, but not unpleasant. Most of his adult life he’d been an anonymous and ambiguous figure. It was essential, in the Marines and in his life after, to avoid calling attention to himself physically or otherwise. He’d been a blank slate for years. Now, in no time at all, he’d become so visible, so vulnerable. The acting class was the catalyst for stirrings inside him - real  _ feelings.  _ Feelings about the situations he was thrust into, feelings about scripts he stumbled through on Mr. Cousineau’s stage, feelings for other people. He was learning, maybe, how to stop being blank and become a person.

 

The way Hank looked at him made him feel like a person.  Especially when he smiled.

 

“You’re knocking out of the baseball park, man,” he assured him, brushing an invisible piece of lint off Barry’s sleeve. “Like, really good. Clothes that fit properly are one of life’s little blessings.”

 

“It isn’t...too much, or anything?”

 

“No, no, just enough. It’s strong, put-together, and then the shirt’s a little fun.” It was evident that Hank was pleased with himself. “Put it this way - if I saw you walking down the street, you’d turn  _ my _ head. In a good way. You think maybe you should get Sally a gift?”

 

“Oh.” Right, Sally. “Maybe, yeah.”

 

Hank checked his phone as it chimed. “Yeah, just to show you’re paying attention, that you’re thinking about her.”

 

“Her laptop is kind of broken,” Barry said, glancing out the large windows to the Apple store across the way. “I guess I could get her a new one.”

 

“That’s a perfect idea!”

 

“Really?”

 

“One hundred percent. It’s big purchase, says you’re committed and you’re looking out for her needs.” Hank reached over and patted his shoulder, nodding in affirmation. “See, Barry? You don’t even need my help. You already know how to be a good boyfriend. Go get undressed, I find you better pants.”

 

Barry thought about that comment in the dressing room for so long that Hank had to knock on the door and ask if he was dead. Barry Berkman - no, Block. Actor. Good boyfriend. It just sounded nice. Hearing Hank say it made all the difference. 

  
  


***

  
  


Hank had been right about the hotel room, too. The place he checked into was a very middling Holiday Inn, but it was clean. The walls didn’t have holes or stains or anything. Walking in and being greeted by a clean smell rather than stale smoke and god-knows-what, Barry felt ten pounds lighter. 

 

“Crazy that this is only twenty bucks more than the dungeon you were in,” Hank remarked behind him, sticking his head into the bathroom. “Look, soaps for you to steal!”

 

Barry sat on the bed, dropping his shopping bags on the floor next to him. “Um, thanks, Hank. For the help.”

 

“Aw. Hey now, no need to thank me,” Hank said with a grin. “I just got to hang out with my friend for the afternoon instead of helping Goran prune the lemon tree in his backyard, so we both win.”

 

“It’s a nice lemon tree.” 

 

“I know, right?”

 

Mutual silence settled over them. Barry looked away, studying a bright patch of sun on the carpet. Reflecting back on the afternoon a lot of moments - words, tones, touch - swirled in his mind, much like the illuminated dust in the air. While they were shopping he’d felt so clear-headed - now his thoughts were a jumble. A jumble of Hank. He couldn’t fit it together in a way that made sense.

 

“Keep me updated,” Hank spoke up. “You know, party, stash house..let me know. I guess Goran wants me back.”

 

“Hm?” Barry blinked and looked up again. “Oh. Alright.”

 

Hank paused, shifting on his feet. “Party will be super great, Barry. You have nothing to worry about. Sally’s lucky.”

 

“That’s…” Barry’s stomach flipped. “Yeah. I appreciate that. Thanks.”

 

Hank stood by the bathroom door for another few seconds, despite there being nothing else to say. Barry looked down again, and when he looked up the front door was swinging shut. He let himself fall back on the bed, releasing a long sigh. He wasn’t sore, and then he was. 

 

All at once, he stood and quickly walked to the bathroom to shower. He forced himself to leave the incomprehensible, nonsensical thoughts back on the bed. He had enough bullshit in his life to worry about - he just didn’t have the time, or the strength.

 

***

 

“Barry’s heeeere!” Natalie squealed, adorning his face with light, saccharine kisses. She backed up and took in the outfit, excitement mixing with a furrowed brow. “Wow...look at your outfit!” 

 

“Oh,” Barry said, remembering what he was wearing. Who it came from. “Yeah, uh, I went into J. Crew and this was on the mannequin.”


End file.
